“Will you still love me in the morning?” Your broken voice pierced the silence and with that sentence charged the air, question heavy as gravity. I tried to not move in the dampness, our mingled sweat refusing to dry in the humidity, seeping through the sheets into the mattress. I heard you inhaling the oxygen and exhaling your frustration, gusting to blanket the battlefield with disappointment. And I willed my eyes to not blink, tried to not breathe, tried to not make my heartbeat betray the knowledge that even as we lay there side by side, I was starting to forget your name.


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